It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. “There is no time for that. . Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said. Honestly, I never did.
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